


Idle Hands

by bzarcher



Series: The Wizard Triumphant [3]
Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Cats, Dogs, F/F, Fish, Inspired by Art, Interrogation, Mentions of other characters - Freeform, Not A Happy Ending, OC Mook has a bad day, Odette!AU, Odile!AU, Pets, Reprogrammed!Widowmaker, Talon!Tracer, Torture, dark!fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-25
Updated: 2016-12-25
Packaged: 2018-09-12 01:49:04
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,438
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9050335
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bzarcher/pseuds/bzarcher
Summary: Slipstream and Odile hate doing interrogations, but that doesn't mean they aren't good at it.





	

**Author's Note:**

> I received a lovely Christmas surprise: [Some Slipstream and Odile fanart!](http://redcap3.tumblr.com/post/154935676637/idle-hands-slipstream-hated-these-kinds-of-jobs) So that meant I had to figure out the story to go with it. Thanks to [For General Madness](http://for-general-madness.tumblr.com/) for their gift!

Slipstream hated these kinds of jobs.

Interrogation really wasn’t her strong suit. Odile did a bit better at it, being the patient type, but really neither of them enjoyed this kind of work. They were made to get stuck into a fight, not sit in a dank little room. Clear objectives, targets, a nice adrenaline rush as they fought and danced with their opponents on a battlefield. As far as she was concerned, a firefight was a far better way to spend an evening than sweating information out of a poor bastard who had gotten on Talon’s bad side.

Reaching behind her, Slipstream picked up a throwing knife from the table that had been set up in the otherwise bare room.

“Bored.”

She snapped her wrist forward and the blade embedded itself into the soundproofed wall with a _thunk_ , just to the side of their captive’s pillowcase wrapped head.

“Please,” the stripped and bound man pleaded, “ _please_ , I didn’t know Reaper wasn’t working for Talon any longer!”

Slipstream rolled her eyes as she picked up another knife. “Still bored.”

Odile didn’t bother looking up from where she’d been field stripping and inspecting her rifle. “You could try throwing blindfolded.”

This time the knife went into the wall a few inches above the prisoner’s head.

“Did that while you were checking your magazines. How do you think he got that one in his shoulder?”

“Ah.” The sniper lifted the rifle’s stock up, carefully scrutinizing the rifle’s action, then placed it back on the table. “Did he say anything useful?”

“I _swear_ ,” the prisoner piped up, “I don’t know where he is now! I just received what looked like a normal request for target information! I provided him with the dossier he requested by file drop, _nothing else!_ ”

“Basically that,” Slipstream admitted, then sighed as she picked up another knife, “All you have to do is sing a better song, little birdie, and we might just let you out of the cage.” This time she closed one eye and threw with her offhand, but all she accomplished was to put the throw far off the mark, almost a full head’s width to the side.

“ _God_ this sucks. You’re not even entertaining, mate! All you do is sit there and say the same thing over and over.” Crossing her arms over her accelerator’s harness, Slipstream’s mouth settled into a pout. “I mean; can’t you at least beg for a bit? Come up with a good sob story? Wife got the plague? Kid's got cancer? Dog's got cancer _and_ the plague?”

A sob came from beneath the pillowcase. “I don’t even _have_ a dog!”

“See? That’s just pathetic, really.” Slipstream suddenly sat up as a thought crossed her mind, then turned back to look at her lover as she ran a cleaning rod through the rifle’s barrel. “Ooo, think we could get a dog?”

“Dogs get noisy,” Odile countered, “and would not appreciate being left alone when we needed to travel for work.”

Slipstream considered that, then stood up. “Suppose you’re right.” She blinked forward, collecting the knives out of the wall so she could go again. Her victim gave a satisfying cry of pain as she wrenched the last knife out of his shoulder, but offered little else of use. “How about a cat?”

Odile looked up with an exasperated frown. “Allergic.”

“Shit, right.” Slipstream flopped back into the chair, tipping it back until she was just on the edge of the back feet, the table barely keeping her upright. “Fish? Fish are pretty. Don’t need that much looking after, either.”

Odile began to reassemble her rifle. “I suppose that could be nice.”

“Fantastic! Thanks, mate. You’re shit for giving us intel but at least I’m getting an aquarium later.” Slipstream threw the next one underhand, pinning the top corner of the pillowcase to the wall. “Ooo, that was a good one!” 

The prisoner whimpered, a dark stain spreading across his boxers.

Odile finished servicing her weapon, then slapped in a magazine before bringing the scope to her eye, the sound of capacitors charging filling the room with a low whine as the magnetic projectile boost powered up. “Mm. Do you suppose he really doesn’t know anything else about Reaper?”

“Anything’s possible,” Slipstream admitted as she flipped a knife end over end, catching it by the handle and then tossing it back into the air, “but I thought of something he _hasn’t_ told us.”

“Oh,” Odile traversed her aim, zooming her scope in and out a few times before dropping the rifle back into the semi-auto fire configuration, “and what would that be, _ma belle?_ ”

Slipstream leaned forward, letting the chair’s legs click against the concrete floor. “He said Reaper wanted a dossier.” Standing, she walked forward with deliberate slowness, a contrast to her normal hyperactivity. Carefully, she teased the edge of the knife against the man’s bare arm, noting the way he shivered. “Didn’t tell us who, did he, Swan?”

“No…” Odile’s eyes sharpened, her posture suddenly alert compared to her earlier disinterest. “No, he did not. Isn’t that interesting, _mon chou_?”

Slipstream flicked the knife upwards, slitting the pillowcase to expose the terrified analyst’s head, sweat now pouring down his brow. “Now, why are you so nervous, luv?” She gently slid the knife’s edge along his skin, examining the beads of sweat collecting on the steel. “Do you think he’s afraid of Reyes finding out he squealed, pet?”

Odile walked slowly around the table, her rifle held just a bit too casually in her arms. “Mmm, just perhaps. Silly, really. He should be far more afraid of what we will do if he doesn’t give us that name.”

Slipstream crouched in front of her captive, a lazy smile on her face. “Right? I mean, Reaper…he’ll kill you, sure.” She gently pressed the tip of the knife against the outside corner of the terrified man’s eye socket as her voice turned to a quiet whisper. “Us? We’ll do _so much worse.”_

Odile sighed with disappointment. “Are you _really_ going to start at the eyes, _chérie_?”

Slipstream grinned, not bothering to turn around, her eyes locked onto her prey like a cobra preparing to strike. “Too much?”

Odile snorted. “I don’t even think he’d last past removing a few toenails.”

“Awww,” Slipstream leaned in, her voice almost conspiratorial, “hear that? She doesn’t have much faith in you at all, does she?” Turning his bound feet up with one hand, Slipstream brought the knife down, tapping it against his ankle. “Me? I think we’d at _least_ get to your fingers.”

Their prisoner’s chest was heaving now, on the edge of hyperventilating, his lips parting as he began to babble. “Haaha…haaa…ha…mam…ma….”

Slipstream put the knife’s point beneath the edge of a toenail. “Sorry, didn’t quite get that.”

The analyst’s eyes were wide as dinner plates now, his voice rising in panic. “Ma..mac…maccc…”

Slipstream put just a hair more pressure on the knife, and her victim finally gave them something useful.

“ _McCREE! He wanted to know about_ **_JESSE McCREE!_** ”

Slipstream pulled the knife back and stood up, breaking into a wide smile. “There, see, that wasn’t so hard, was it?” Looking to Odile, she winked. “Guess this wasn’t so boring after all.”

“ _Non_ ,” the sniper agreed with her lover, her voice thoughtful, “so, Reaper wants to find his prodigal son?”

Slipstream chuckled as she stood back up. “I will say this – he’s a murdering bastard smog monster, but he never did forget his kids. Puts him one up on Morrison right there.”

Odile gave a little shrug, flipping her rifle’s safety back on. “So, what shall we do, _chérie_?”

“Oh, that’s easy.” Slipstream walked towards the door, wrapping the fingers of her free hand around her lover’s wrist. “First we’re going to the pet store, and then we’re going to go find that stupid cowboy so we can lay a trap for them both.”

Odile smiled, her eyes flashing. “Ahhh, _c’est clair._ But what about our guest?”

Slipstream stopped in her tracks with a laugh. “God, right! Sorry! Forget my own head, you know?” Spinning in place, she released the knife from her hand in one smooth motion. The blade struck their bound prisoner in the throat, sinking home to the hilt with a wet thud. They watched his body jerk and spasm for a few moments, then Odile confirmed the termination with a single shot to the heart, ensuring the traitor’s permanent silence.

Slipstream still hated these jobs. But at least this one had ended with the promise of a much more entertaining hunt to come.


End file.
